


Herzsprache

by C_Gracewood



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Foreign Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:12:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_Gracewood/pseuds/C_Gracewood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s only one occasion so far where Erik has spoken a language that’s completely unfamiliar to Charles, but the memory of it burns brightly in his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Herzsprache

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fengirl88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fengirl88/gifts).



> Written as a gift for fengirl88's LJ birthday, in gratitude for all her wonderful XMFC fic (if you've not read it then my goodness, don't hang around, off you go!).
> 
> This takes place some vague time after ‘Lay Down Beside Me’ – not straight away, but not too long after. If you liked the fic, then you may like to imagine this as being a sort-of follow-up to it. If you didn’t like it then, erm, *handwaves* this is just a random, inoffensive ficlet with no connection whatsoever.
> 
> Thanks to kalypso_v, who was kind enough to let me know of a few mistakes she spotted.

During the Oxford years (as Charles will always think of them) he and Raven visited Europe as often as they could manage. Why wouldn’t they? They were young, without any ties save each other, and had enough money and time to do whatever they wanted. And compared to the east coast of America then Oxford was practically on the doorstep of history’s great cities; the difficult part had been making themselves stay in Oxford for long enough that they didn’t miss too much of their respective studies.

Neither of them had an ear for languages but there was never any need for it, not when a quick brush of Charles’ gift would communicate their requests effectively and leave the recipient convinced that they had just had a perfectly intelligible conversation in their native tongue. Charles can more or less hear the difference between most western European languages when they’re spoken, but that’s about it.

Erik has also travelled, albeit in a more desperate fashion than Charles’ and Raven’s meanderings, and has a talent for picking up languages that’s almost uncanny. Charles can recognise at least four languages that Erik speaks, although he can’t understand the content since Erik is as fluent and faultless as a native.

Naturally Erik uses German when he’s muttering to himself – especially when dealing with recalcitrant equipment – and thinks that no-one else is around (he doesn’t count Charles’ gentle, loving brush at the back of his mind, a privilege that Charles is still quietly delighted about).

He talks French, oddly enough, when he’s making threats, promising the younger mutants very sincerely that if they break one more thing in the house through boisterous high spirits then There Will Be Consequences. None of them understands a word of Erik’s eloquent speech, but the silky, flowing syllables wrap themselves around the steely menace in his tone and leave them hangdog and chastened while Charles bites his lip against laughter, knowing full well that Erik would never hurt any of them.

(He bites his lip for other reasons too, and once Erik deduced them then French is also the language in which he coaxes Charles to set aside his work and come to bed, trailing fingers over his nape.)

Charles knows that Erik speaks Italian – since he absent-mindedly corrected Raven’s mangling of a second edition of Dante’s _Inferno_ that she’d found in the recesses of the Xavier library and decided to read on a whim – and the occasional recruiting trip to South America has revealed that he’s also comfortable in Spanish.

There’s only one occasion so far where Erik has spoken a language that’s completely unfamiliar to Charles, but the memory of it burns brightly in his mind.

It’s the middle of the night, and something has woken Charles. He can’t immediately put his finger on the disturbance and to tell the truth he doesn’t much care, since he’s warm and safe in Erik’s loose clasp and more than ready to fall back to sleep. But then it comes again – a breathy susurration – and Charles realises sleepily that Erik is speaking.

For several long moments Charles lies still and listens contentedly. He’s squirmed down the bed in his sleep and his face is buried in Erik’s chest, his nose tucked neatly into the tiny hollow over Erik’s sternum and Erik’s heart thumping steady and reassuring under his cheek. Erik’s arms are heavy and comforting around Charles, while above his head the soft slurs and catches of an alien language break the silence like a strange lullaby.

After a while Charles’ curiosity gets the better of him and he reaches for Erik with his mind, wanting to know. He slips into Erik’s thoughts and feels the small tug of awareness indicating that Erik senses his presence but that’s good, Charles would never want to sneak into Erik’s mind unannounced, like a thief. Erik continues to whisper but, now that he knows that Charles is awake, his hands are more active. He cradles Charles’ head against his chest, petting his hair with gentle strokes while the words flow on and on, and Charles reaches into Erik’s mind to find that he’s speaking Yiddish. It’s the language that Erik’s parents had used in their home and with their young son, and Charles knows that he’s hearing the language of Erik’s heart.

_Neshomeleh,_ Erik calls him, and _hartsenyu,_ and when Charles skims the translations from the surface of Erik’s mind then they make him nuzzle impossibly closer: helplessly, hopelessly in love with this man. Erik loves him too, he can feel it, with half-incredulous, half-frightened adoration. A man with nothing has nothing to lose; Erik never even expected to survive his encounter with Shaw, much less have all of _this_ waiting for him afterwards, and his wild, silent joy is matched only by his fear of losing it all.

‘Shh,’ Charles murmurs; Erik’s voice hasn’t risen above a whisper but his feelings are as loud as a shout. ‘ _Schlafe._ I’m not going anywhere. And anyone who tries to take you from me will wish they’d never been born.’

Erik is surely the only person in the world who can be lulled to sleep by threats; he hugs Charles tighter and the roil of his anxiety abates.

‘ _Liebe dich,_ ’ he whispers, mouth moving in Charles’ hair, and Charles smiles, resettling himself comfortably and tightening his arm around Erik’s waist. His German grammar and vocabulary are almost nonexistent, but that’s one phrase he’ll always understand and always know how to answer, however awkward and flawed his response may be:

‘ _Du auch._ ’

 

***End***

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Herzsprache](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4519404) by [Kess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kess/pseuds/Kess)




End file.
